


The bleeding yellow of petals

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Poetry, Slow Burn, poet AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Falling in love with strangers again, aren’t we?” he whispered to no one but himself,</p>
            </blockquote>





	The bleeding yellow of petals

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of Daisuga Poet!AU i've been writing, can also be found on tumblr at madkyouken. Kind of a stand-alone too.

The Sun was shining this day, casting sudden warmth over the city, people lazily strolling in the street, never speeding to reach their destination; glass buildings shining so bright the city seemed to glow under the summer sky. The city that had attracted Daichi for its never ending energy, its simmering life, seemed to sleep under the heavy heat, like a cat drowsing by the windowsill. There was nothing he could do but watch, his fingers tapping endlessly on the steel table he was seated near to, eyes never leaving the strangers’s faces, the roaring cars and the fans he could see working, whirring in the shops nearby.

 

He had come there to find inspiration, away from his usual place, from his too silent flat and the white screen he had stared at for days until his eyes burned under his glasses, sighing and erasing every word he had typed furiously the days before. There was no one to see his struggle but him, but his manager, endlessly calling to know about his progress, and Daichi could still hear her voice, stern and mildly amused by his lack of progress.

“Go to the city Sawamura. Take some fresh air, see some fresh meat, whatever makes you stop wallowing in front of your computer. Go find your muse instead of calling me about your lack of coffee!”

He had met her at the beginning of his career, a fledging of a poet, a few stories published here and there, captivating the public until Daichi hadn’t enough eyes and brain to take care of everything. Yui had come like a blessing, taking his time and money until he was free to write at his leisure, the words flowing seamlessly like they hadn’t done so for a while. He had written her a poem, a dedicate of sort like the poets centuries before. Two short verses that had made her bark in laughter and punch him in the arm.

“You won’t have me in your bed Sawamura, not even with your pretty face and even prettier words.” 

When he had uttered that she would never be the object of his attention, that he could never see himself with a woman, she had laughed, sweeter, face shining with mirth as she swore again that she was the best author she was working with, despite his usual laziness, and his lack of consistency in his writing. Her gray hair will grow soon with him, she had uttered again, but her smile told him otherwise.  
She was more lenient with him than with her other charges, letting him write and compose as he saw fit, never expressing distrust in his capacity, in his muse.  
But the muse hadn’t visited him for a long while, and Yui was getting restless. Daichi knew it wasn’t good for a growing author to let the publishing houses without something to publish, without even a word to print, but he always seemed to grab at smoke, words evading him the moment he brought his pen to the white, haunting paper.

He had left his small village then, coming to the city, big and bright, hoping to find something, anything, that would make his soul open to his art again, that would make his fingers twitch in anticipation and his want to write come back. His writing was for himself first, a way to express his feelings so much better than he could do in person, to express the complexity of his own mind until even himself was surprised by what he saw.  
But the Sun was shining too bright, and the heavy air around him did him no good, making him feel drowsy and even more tired than by the seaside and it’s never ending calmness.

They said the city was a miracle, but it soon turned into his personal hell.

Daichi sighed tiredly, pushing away his notebook, grabbing almost angrily his glass, drinking the cold drink absent-minded. Nothing to focus on, and even the food was seemingly blank. He felt empty, like nothing would come back at him; as if he was still in high school, writing endlessly but nothing worthy coming out as he worked to prove that his musings were worth something worth giving up on higher education, on scholarships and everything that would made his parents proud of him.  
But the ray didn’t seem to want to come to him, and he still hoped for it, like a thirsty man in the desert.

There was nothing else he could but leave the place, tossing the money and bowing to the waiter, leaving the busy street to wander around, shying away from the heat between sparse trees and silent parks, searching aimlessly for something that would grab his attention. He noticed then that these small streets weren’t so different that in his birthplace, children crying and scurrying around, open and empty restaurants were waiter and cooks leaned, lazy on their counters, leaning towards the working fans to seek cold air.  
But he had found it then, a curious splash of color in the middle of the gray, something that smelled of summer as surely as the sun outside, like a mirage created by his own mind as he walked towards it, gaze fixed on the bright greens of the walls, and the scent of the flowers scattered on small shelves, drinking as much Sun as they could on this bright day. He had looked then, at the small shop that smelled of spring and forest, looking at the white floor dirtied by mud and the calm, oozing music that he could hear even shuffling on the doorstep. He didn’t know if it was his own mind that played tricks, his want, his need to publish something that pushed every idea in his mind until he wanted to vomit them, but every color seemed brighter, and the smell of the plants was gnawing at his mind, remind him of his mother watering her orchids adoringly, his father cutting the grass on warm spring day.  
Of Yui, as powerful as the flower shop smell, bright and colorful, almost blindingly and Daichi found himself walking inside the small shop, the cool air making him shudder as he looked at everything like a small child would in a candy shop.

They said that poets still had their childish soul, and he was in no mind to correct them.

“Are you searching for something?”

The sudden sound made him jump slightly, as Daichi turned back to the voice, grinning impishly as he realized that he hadn’t even noticed the shop owner. How ridiculous he must have looked, watching everything as if he had never stepped in a flower shop before.

“Ah. Not really. I was just stolling around and happened to stumble on your shop. Quite stunning by the way.” He had uttered, laughing at his own stupidity and how embarrassed the shop owner must have been of him. But the sudden laugh he heard, far too amused but all the more candid made him look up, stunned by the absence of mockery in the stranger’s tone. And Daichi had looked then, stunned as well by what he saw, and his thoughts stumbled over each other as he began to blush, staring and avoiding the other’s gaze at the same time.

The man was beautiful, and Daichi felt he would utter something even far more stupid if he opened his mouth. If his face was a bit muddy, the gloves on his shoulder browned by earth, Daichi could only see his smile, bright and warm, and the crinkles around his eyes, the small mark on his left one creased by the action. If Daichi would notice the lightness of his hair and the fairness of his skin later, nothing struck him as hard as he gentleness the man oozed, postre laid back and smile written in every of his movements.

“I’ll let you look then, don’t hesitate to bother me if you find anything worthy of your interest.” He had said, smiling on last time, almost indulgently as he turned to the back of the shop, a few scattered plants laid there, waiting to be tended to. Daichi had uttered his thanks, bowing slightly as he began to look again t what had struck his mind by his beauty, but he found himself staring at the owner again and again, quick glances, searching for blond so white and muddied clothes between the flashes of green and bright colors of the shelves.  
he had picked a flower then, never looking away from the man as his fingers touched the tug of the flower, nail scrapping against the green matter as he walked towards the counter not even remotely more confident about himself.

The sound of the owner’s voice shook him off of his thoughts once again, the smile and warmth on his face being also heard in his voice.

“Ah. A freesia? A nice choice for such a lovely summer, but I hope your intended isn’t offended to be called childish!” he had said with small laughter, and Daichi was once again captivated by the small mark under his eye and the way his whole face seemed to shine.

“Ah,no! I mean. I just found it pretty. Like many of the flower here but it seemed to call to me. I must be the one who is childish.” He had answered in a huff, hands coming to cuff his neck as per usual when Daichi laughed, embarrassed or not, as he realized the meaning of the flower he had just picked. Childishness indeed, to be captivated by a stranger to the point his mind could do nothing but swirl around the memory, analyzing every nook and crease of the shop owner’s face until it was burned in his memory, seeping in his pores and making his heart beat without a thought.  
He knew he was prone to fall in love with strangers, fleeting infatuation, admiration of beauty of the body and of the mind. He had fallen in love with Yui this way for a few days, admiring her and slowly becoming friends, but this stranger, with his look and effortless charm had him falling faster than usual, making him forgetting even his words.  
Childishness indeed. 

They had said nothing more as the flower was packed, neatly arranged by the force of habit as Daichi looked, stared at the skillful hands, the seamless movements and fumbled for his wallet when he paid for it, the yellow of the petals shining like the Sun’s ray behind the layer of plastic. He had mumbled his thanks and a slight bow of the head as the owner accepted his money, wishing him a good day as Daichi walked back outside. In the heat, under the sun and mind swirling with words and images as it took every inch of willpower not to come back to this colorful and small shop to gaze at this fair haired florist and the way his fingers moved, careful and loving around the plants he tended to.

He shielded his eyes from the raging Sun, thoughts occupied as he paid no attention to the city anymore, focused as he was on the beating of his heart, the pumping of his blood and the way his gingers tightened slightly on the small yellow flower. A token of childishness, of his falling in love with yet a face he would not put a name on. A muse, a mirage, a trick of the mind Daichi wished to come true, to swallow him whole until his mind was nothing but white, scorching and thoughtless.

Hair like the moon shone above  
A smile jealoused by the Sun.  
A skin like the pelt of a dove  
White, yellow, come the fun.  
Nothing can compare to you  
Young and bright I turn to goo.

Childishness at first glance  
Easily seen, easily heard  
For all but him, a chirping bird  
Silent, shouting by the summer’s dance

If he had sat there once again, in the leather chair in his living room, used and torn but oh so familiar, it wasn’t because the pen in his hand didn’t respond to his thoughts. The ink had flowed, quick and striking as Daichi wrote again, playing with words until he looked back, almost panting and gripping the pen a bit too tight, a bit too excitedly. The Sun was no more outside, and Daichi put back his glasses on his nose as he frowned, looking into the darkness, reading over words he knew so well, written as if his life depended on it. It was rare for him to go in such frenzy, knowing what to write, knowing the words that flowed in his mind, as if pushed by something else than his own mind. Some had said that he looked almost mad when he wrote, buried in his own universe, in his memory and Daichi always blushed because he could not imagine doing so another way, without the maze of his mind and the tangle of his feelings. It was something so inherently tied to his soul that he felt empty when he was not drowning in his feelings.

And this time, it was the yellow of the flower, the fairness of skin and a white smile that made him drown so easily, tempting and alluring like a siren’s call, and Daichi had dived in, free. But now, as he looked at the words, adoring and worshipping, Daichi felt like blushing, felt like securing his words under a casket and never read them again, a tantalizing proof of his foolishness, of a dream never to come true, haunting him without fault as he sighed, pushing the paper away and looking up at the ceiling, nails scrapping at his scalp in frustration.

“Falling in love with strangers again, aren’t we?” he whispered to no one but himself, not even shying away from the truth of his feelings, of this quick beating he knew oh too well, had cursed it for so long before just flowing with it, no minding this heart ache as much as in the beginning, blackening paper in hope to trap this feeling, for it to go away before he was reduced to a mindless bundle of embarrassment, even to himself.

But the man there, in his small flower shop, among plants bright and colorful truly looked like an apparition. Warm and welcoming, not even minding Daichi’s queer actions that even made Yui sigh and swat at him after all these years, and the flower in its small glass of water only made the memory all the more brighter to him, the smile on the stranger’s face and the sound of his voice plaguing his mind as Daichi rose, stretching slightly as he picked up the stack of papers to put them in bound notebook, gathering old and new pieces of work for his manager to look at.  
There was nothing else he could but ride with this feeling, glancing at the flower time and time again like it would change anything, make this different than the other times, that his words would make something come out of this situation, from this one sided attraction, fleeting and fluttering, as fragile as the petals of the yellow freesia on his counter top.

But all the same, hope fluttered in his mind. Whispers of maybe, just maybe this time would be the good one, the right one, blessed by a summer’s day and Daichi’s helpless wanderings. That his muse led his steps and took form in blond hair and a dark mole, and eyes that seemed to look right into his soul, into his heart until it burrowed a place in Daichi’s heart for itself not minding the owner’s wants.  
If he even uttered a word about this florist to Yui, his manager would never let him live it down. His words were always striking to her, and she would know clear as day who Daichi was talking about. And Yui was a disaster Daichi didn’t want in his love life, in this imaginary situation where love could be formed and even returned, beyond what his writing told him, beyond his own cravings.

His parents had told him many times that he was hopeless, that his heart was too big, loving everyone down to his childhood friends, like love was a part of himself that nothing could truly catch, that no one could love as much as he did. So he had poured it down, between classes and volley matches, words upon words in hope that it would fade. But it never did. Until he found himself in the middle of night, gazing at nothing but a sunny flower, tiredness in his very bones but feeling far too pleased with himself.

The city was doing him good, Yui was right. He had never thought that a place so big would be reduced to just one small setting, one encounter.

Love at first sight, they said. His life was a story of loves at first sight, of token and poems, to be forgotten, to be read with poignant feelings and sadness so deep Daichi stops writing every time his heart was broken. When he didn’t see the same face on the train again, when the pretty waitress changed shift and never brought him his order again. When a flower was put on the same level as a person.

“You definitely won’t be talking to a flower, Sawamura Daichi. Never will you.” He muttered, a small smile on his face, but nothing, no one answered him as he flicked the lights off, walking towards his bedroom with silent steps, every thought of the flower and florist forgotten as Daichi looked forward to a new day with brightened interest.

A flower by the windowsill  
Sat as a crown on your brow  
I could only bend to your will  
As you took me down below

There was nothing I could do  
Watching, breathing I came into a stop  
As the city turned and stopped  
My heart in pieces stood and I knew

Nothing from it was to come  
But a small everyday delight  
A flower put on my hand, I could not fathom  
To see anything but you, so bright  
Heartbroken but love on my soul so light

 

His steps had taken him to the same small street and its neon lights and bright wall. If Daichi was true to himself, h would have admitted that, maybe, he had wanted to see the man again, the withered flower on his desk only a pretext to find himself walking down the same busy street. But the Sun was shining no more, the grey cold casting their shadow on the streets and even the city seemed grey. The gloom was impending, people hurrying to find cover, and Daichi should have known somehow that this would mark his day as surely as the clear blue sky a few days ago.  
He had looked at the same plants then, the same bright colors that had blinded him the other time, their color deluded under the gray sky and Daichi feared for a moment that his memory had embellished everything, down to the man his heart and mind had fallen for. That in his quest of inspiration, he had seen exactly what he had wanted to, fallen for a wrong image, a delusion of the heart and soul like so many times before

He had heard the small laugh, the same warming and bright sound echoing in the small shop above the soothing music, but his heart, hopeful and oh so young, had broken before his eyes. He was used to such disillusion, to waking up empty and tired after realizing he wasn’t truly in love, waking up alone in his cramped flat and empty rooms. But then, he had looked at this flower for days, seeing the same face over and over again until he believed in the flutter in his heart, until he read the words again and again until he saw nothing wrong with them.  
But the gloom sky above his head and what he saw brought him down to reality in such an abrupt way Daichi flinched. A muse was fictive, unreachable and the florist stood there, laughing and leaning towards a man that smiled as sweetly as he did, eyes crinkling the same way Daichi had seen the first time. A small touch here and there that spoke of intimacy, shouted it at Daichi until he looked away. Away towards the greying flowers, the silent street. Away from a love Daichi knew was impossible, a simple desire, a fiction of the mind he hoped to see true.  
But life hasn’t room for a poet, for a simple soul that thrived on feelings, on hope and love. And love was such a feeble thing, thrown at his face time and time again. And the way the florist flushed under the stare of the man, loving and bright, was as much a pain to Daichi as it was a wonder. Something to cherish, to tell about, even if he wasn’t the one it was directed at.

Heartbreak was something strange to him. Something that pained but fueled him either way, and he once was told that he thrived to be one of the poètes maudits, someone that only holds love for a moment, watching it from afar, admiring its beauty in other.  
So when the shop owner turned towards him, bashful smile and cheeks all the redder, Daichi only smiled, hands right on his neck as he laughed, excusing himself for the bother. But the florist had only smiled brighter, hands leaving the other man’s arm quicker than he thought possible, looking straight at him until the man sighed and backed away, straighter and taller than Daichi had imagined. The florist had bowed slightly then a small and please “ Do come in, I’m all yours if you have any question.” Ringing in Daichi’s mind as he walked in, trying to look at anything but the owner himself.  
When the other man had brushed him, shoulder too close to be comfortable, to be innocent and carefree, Daichi had looked away.  
He had seen it then, bright and bloody, a flower so unlike any other Daichi had grabbed it without a thought, toying with the petals softly as the florist shuffled behind his counter, voice ringing out to the other man as he waved back, focusing on his job again as Daichi picked at the plant again.

Daichi felt suddenly out of place, a dark spot in this bright and aromatic place, too aware of what was happening, of his own sweating hands, of the slight shaking in his fingers and the way blood pumped in his ears, screaming at him to just go away. And he had done so, barely a word to the beautiful man, breathing out when he was meters away from the shop, down in the busy boulevard, feeling utterly alone in this place despite the world spinning around him. But hope was strill grasping at his heart, unclenching his hands and slowing his breathing until his thoughts cleared.  
“Sugawara” he had said. Voice far more tender than Daichi would have liked to hear. But the florist had a name now, making it all the more real to Daichi.  
IF his steps had been way too quick as he stepped out from the shop, Lyre-flowers tight in his hands, there was no one but his own mind to say to him that he was fleeing. Fleeing his thoughts and himself as the city streets blurred in his vision, that words swirled once again, chased by a smile too bright and loving, by a face that shone under love and tenderness, and eyes so warm when they looked at Daichi’s own flushed and embarrassed face as the florist, Sugawara, packed his the plant away.

 

He would later discover that there was also pity in Sugawara’s eyes, a smile that faded slowly and fingers never quite reaching out as the heartbroken flowers were safely tucked away, as Daichi never looked at him in the eye, quick to pay and quick to go away.  
What he never noticed was the small, flashing glances Sugawara had for him, never looking away as Daichi focused on the plant, toying with the vase and never quite looking at him. The way he sighed above his counter as the grey sky roamed above them.

Love was a feeble thing, tearing apart as easily as it brings together.

The lyre-flower in its place stand  
Bloody and white it reminds  
Of love, brighter and more painful than any brand  
Undo me now of any binds

I swore one day that you looked  
As the starry night shining above  
Dark and full, reminder of  
What I had lost, what I had hoped.

I would have loved to look again  
at your smile, your eyes, your hands  
Printing it boldly in my mind then  
Never to unbind this tangle of strands.

Another shiny, bright day above the city, the buildings still blinding the strangers in the streets. But the streets very busier than ever, like it was showing him that the world did not revolve around his feelings, around his broken hearts and too vivid words. And Daichi found himself at the same table, fingers tapping against the steel table, a coffee far too hot next to his hands. But the words came freely, telling tales and feelings even he could not exactly pinpoint. And he found himself writing about a fair haired man, of flowers and words alike mingling until only a name rang in his mind.

“Childishness” the Freesia had said, and Daichi had laughed along. But the words were bright on the new bound book, in the kind words written to Yui as a thank, in the joy of his publishing house. A first meeting, so short and so bright, that had left Daichi smiling under the sun, bittersweet memories that still warmed his heart, still made his fingers twitch in anticipation.  
They say that a muse is something, someone, who transcended inspiration. And in this small shop of flowers, Daichi had found him. The bleeding in his heart and the heat of his tears were nothing compared to the beauty of it all, to what it had birthed in its wake.

If his steps made him meet Sugawara again, Daichi would smile, he promised to himself.


End file.
